Peeta, The Boy Who Was On Fire
by Momsie.Popsicle
Summary: When 16 year old Peeta Mellark's name is drawn for the 74th Annual Hunger Games, he can't believe his luck. He'll be going to The Capitol with Katniss, the girl he's loved for years. He'll finally have the chance to show her how he feels, by keeping her alive at all costs. - On temporary hiatus
1. Chapter 1 - The Reaping

**Thank you for reading and please review (especially if you find stuff you don't like, so I can work on my craft) If you have any suggestions or things you'd like to see, let me know and I can see if it works into the story! **

* * *

Peeta, the Boy Who Was on Fire

Part One - Smoke

The timer dings just as I finish kneading my fourth batch of dough. I wipe the flour off my hands with a damp rag and look over at my brother, Ashtan, who is mixing butter cream frosting; he can't pull the bread. Another bell rings and my mother sighs and slams closed the ledger book she is writing in. She stalks through the kitchen to greet a customer, darting a glance at me when she walks by and looking pointedly at the oven. Her fake, syrupy smile is plastered to her face before she walks through the swinging door to the shop front.

It's not even dawn, and while most of District 12 has the day off, my family has been working for hours. Even on Reaping Day, people need their fresh breads, pastries and cakes. Several of the shops on the square are closed for the day, but the bakery is one of a handful of stores that will be open at all today and the only shop that will close only during the hours of the reaping. Even then, it's only because attendance is mandatory. Because of the lost business hours in the middle of the day, my mother insists that we open for business early on Reaping Day. And she's right; we have customers arriving as soon as our light turns on. Dense, sweet, dark rolls topped with oats, chewy bagels, and flaky croissants, fly off the shelves as fast as my oldest brother, Treyton, can fill the orders.

Before the reaping we are busy preparing the pastries and breads for the day; when the reaping has ended is when we will have our real flood of customers. Many families will have a celebration tonight, rejoicing that their children were spared from the horror of the Hunger Games. Two families will find a basket of "blessings" on their doorstep after the reaping.

It's a tradition that my father started ten years ago, and it's something my mother and him fight about to this day. The "blessing" basket contains a small cake, éclairs, cheese biscuits, two loaves of soft bread and dozens of cookies. Dad called them blessing baskets because that is what families need most after the reaping, and with every item we pack we wish blessings for the family of the child going off to fight to the death. My father insists we save up for the baskets every day, and once a week the whole family goes without dinner to add to the savings. Mother resents that he gives away breads that we cannot even afford to buy for ourselves -let alone the weekly fast- but my father knows that the small baskets are a soothing gesture to a family that is losing so much more than a day of food. For the past 3 years, after having experienced my own first Reaping Day, I've been the one to decorate the cakes and deliver the baskets. I see the value in what my father is doing; my brothers side with our mother.

As I reach into the oven to pull the tray of bread, an errant flame jumps up from the wood below and burns my hand. I nearly drop the tray but correct my grip and only one loaf falls below. I curse under my breath and set the tray aside. Ashtan claps a hand on my shoulder and chuckles.

"You are the clumsiest kid I've ever met." He takes the tray from me and I reach into the flames, ignoring the heat and pulling the now burnt loaf from the hearth. That's when my mother walks in and sees the blackened bread in my slightly cooked hands.

"Peeta! You clumsy lout! Why do you always burn the bread?" She reaches for the switch that she keeps in the kitchen and I tense slightly, preparing for the strike, but the front bell rings again and she releases the stick. "Feed it to the pig and go frost your stupid cakes. Don't go near the oven again." And she disappears again through the door to help Trey.

As soon as she's gone there is a knock at the back door and I see the familiar dark hair of Gale Hawthorne as he pokes his head in to look for my mother. Gale is in the same class as Ashtan in school and while the two of them are friendly, they're not exactly friends. Gale comes from the seam, the part of town at the outskirts where the poorest families live. Most of the families in the seam are coal miners, working the industry of our district. So many of the people in the Seam have similar coloring, Olive skin, black hair and gray eyes; Gale is no exception. Our family isn't rich by any means, but living in town and owning a shop, we are a lot better off than a lot of the others in District 12. The Hawthornes also do fairly well by comparison, because of the illegal hunting that Gale and Katniss do in the woods outside the fence that surrounds our district. Katniss Everdeen is in my class, we've never spoken, and I've loved her since I was five.

"Is your dad around?" Gale asks, holding up a squirrel. A smile breaks across my face, Ashtan grins and hollers for our father. With the money that dad saves for the baskets we rarely buy meat, so when Gale and Katniss come around to trade a squirrel or two we are in for a treat. Mother, of course, thinks that the meat is duck; otherwise she would never even dream of eating it. Tonight, we will have a stew for sure.

"Hawthorne!" My father says genially, though in a hushed tone to not rouse mother's attention. "How are you doing today?"

"Not bad, considering..." Gale trails off, leaving the comment unfinished. But he doesn't need to finish. We all know how it ends; considering that today is the reaping and the odds are not in Gale's favor. I know he has several siblings and has been signing up for tesserae since he was twelve. By entering his name into the reaping additional times, he has been able to get additional grain and oil for his family. I don't know how many entries he has, but I know it has to be more than Ashtan and I combined. Both Ashtan and I will be entered today, along with Gale, because every child between the ages of 12 and 18 are automatically entered into the drawing. Ashtan is 18 so this will be his last reaping; he will have 7 entries in the bowl. I could have had just 5 entries today, but I have also signed up for tesserae every year since I was 13. We have used some of the tessera rations, but I sell as much as I can to add to my father's baskets. The tesserae are cumulative so this year my name will be in the bowl a total of 25 times, even this pales to the number that Gale must have.

"Ah, yes," my father says, his blue eyes darkening slightly. "What do we have here this morning?" Gale holds the squirrel up again and my father nods, turning to look and see what he wants to trade. His eyes land on the tray of loaves that I just pulled from the oven and he plucks one of the larger loaves. "Here you go." He hands the loaf over to Gale and I can tell that Gale's surprised.

"Are you sure?" Gale asks, looking at the loaf, then doubtfully at the squirrel. "He's not even a very large one, I was just hoping for a couple of the sweet rolls."

My father waves his hand in dismissal and I marvel at the difference between him and my mother. Here he is giving away a perfect loaf of bread and not two minutes before she was yelling at me for burning one. I understand where they are both coming from, my mother, concerned with the money and how we are going to put food on our own table, my father, caring about the community and those who have less than us.

"I'm sure." My father says firmly, taking the squirrel from Gale and handing it to Ashtan to skin. "Now get out of here." He starts to close the door but pauses and calls after Gale, "Hawthorne!" Gale turns back around. "Good luck, son." A slight pause and a dip of his head are Gale's reply and then he is gone.

I step out into the hazy light of pre-dawn and start breaking chunks of the bread and throw them to the pig. My mind wanders back to another time that I fed the pig some bread that I'd dropped in the fire. I was 12, we had two pigs then, it was the spring before my first reaping and that time, I dropped the loaves in the fire on purpose.

I had just pulled a tray of bread from the oven and rested it on the hearth when my mother started yelling at some kid for digging through our garbage. I looked out into the rain to see who she was yelling at and there, in the muddy alley behind our shop, stood a beautiful girl with dark hair and dark eyes. The rain had drenched her braid and she shivered in a jacket that was way too big for her. She had been getting thinner, but to me, she was as beautiful as the day I first saw her. Katniss. My heart raced and my hands started to sweat. Maybe I hadn't built up the courage to talk to her yet, but I knew I had to do something to help her. Moving quickly, I walked over to the tray and tripped myself, landing on the tray and sending two loaves into the fire. The smack from my mother was swift, burning my cheek and sending me reeling.

"Pull them out!" She yelled, "I don't want the shop smelling like burnt bread!" I retrieved the loaves from the fire and she shoved me out the door to the back. "Feed it to the pig you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!" The front bell rang and she stormed away, yelling something to my dad on her way to the storefront and I walked over to the crate containing Lucy and Sally, our two pigs.

The pigs only had a few bites that day though, because as soon as my mother was out of sight I tossed the loaves to Katniss. She scooped them up and ran off. I saw her in school after that, but she never mentioned the bread, neither did I.

I drop the last few chunks of bread to Lucy and go back into the bakery. The reaping begins at two so we will be closing at one so Ashtan and I can get ready, until then there is still a lot of work to do.

By noon I have finished with the cakes that I am doing for the day. My father inspects them and gives his nod of approval. He selects two for the baskets. A small white cake with chocolate filling, white, butter cream frosting and a single sugar flower -a Rue- on top, goes into the first basket. The second basket gets an orange cream cake, the icing a soft yellow and lined with orange and red stripes; it looks like sunset. I gather the breads, rolls and cookies to add to the baskets, ignoring the glare from my mother as I move around the bakery kitchen.

When the baskets are complete I set them aside to be delivered after the reaping, pick up a large burlap bag and pack it with two large sacks of tessera grains and two quart jars of oil.

"Going to the Hob?" My father asks, stopping me on my way out the door.

"Yeah," I say. "The Hob will be busy today. I gotta start making some money to pay for next year's baskets. And I was thinking, maybe we could do a little extra and buy an orange or two to add to them." Adding a single orange would probably cost a second night each week without dinner, but what is that compared to watching your child fight to the death on national television? My father nods slowly.

"I think some fruit would be a nice touch." he says. Then his eyes twinkle and a small smile touches his lips, something I wouldn't expect on Reaping Day. "Not just trying to catch a glimpse of her, are we?"

I can feel my cheeks heat and I look away, embarrassed. Everyone in my family knows about my crush, it's not really a secret, but I don't think she even knows who I am. I'm sure, by now, she's forgotten about the bread, after all, it's been five years. It's actually sickening. I'm sixteen years old, I'm nearly a man, and I can't drum up the courage to talk to one silly girl? After a minute, I just shrug and head out the door.

The Hob is just the black market, but it is often busier than the shops in town. Set in an old abandon coal warehouse at the edge of the Seam, the Hob is not a place that many merchants frequent. I've never seen any other shopkeepers at there. I have a couple of regulars that I work trades with though, so I've become a somewhat familiar face. As I approach the coal blackened building I can't help feeling self-conscious about the smears of flour all over my clothing. Not that the traders in the Hob will look down on my dirty clothes, but the stark contrast between my white smeared clothes and the black, coal dusted clothing of those inside. I stand out like lamb among a pack of wolves.

I ignore the stares of those who think a boy from the square has no business in the Hob and head straight to my first stop. Ripper. She's not very old, younger even than my mother, but she lost an arm in a mining accident several years back. Since then she's been making white liquor and selling it at the Hob. The tessera grain, while pretty horrible in bread if it's not milled a second time, is perfect for making liquor. She sees me when I approach and her eyes light up.

"Peeta!" She says, smiling at me when I lift the 30lb sack of grain up out of the burlap bag for her to see. "Oh good, you brought extra. I've nearly run out, a lot more people buying spirits this time of year." The smile disappears and pain replaces it. Her son was a tribute three years ago, the year when the only weapons at the cornucopia were spiked maces. Like as not, she'll be drunk tonight too.

"I thought you would need extra." I say and smile lightly, setting the grain down and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. She clears her throat and straightens her back, all signs of sorrow carefully hidden behind the mask that everyone in District 12 wears. Her face becomes placid and she nods sharply.

"Thanks Peeta, I'll get your money." She goes to lift the bag of grains, but it's too heavy for her to manage. Used to lifting 100lb sacks of flour all day, I lift it easily and place it on the cart where she indicates. She hands me a small pile of coins, much more than her usual rate.

"No." I say firmly, taking several coins and placing them back in her hands. "You have a fair rate, I'm not taking more." It's true, over the years I've sold the grains to several and Ripper not only offered the best rate, but I genuinely like her. When it's not Reaping Day she is full of laughter and life. I have the feeling that she would willingly make donations to the baskets if asked. With that in mind I do ask and she smiles again, remembering the basket that she received three years before. She turns to look through the dozens of bottles she has and she selects two of the nicest looking ones.

"You have a good heart kid, good luck today." She presses the bottles into my hands and turns to greet her next customer, a slightly overweight man in his late thirties, with wrinkled clothes, greasy hair, and already completely hammered; Haymitch Abernathy, who is probably her best customer.

I leave Ripper to her business and make my way through the Hob to my next trade partner. The oil is supposed to be for cooking, but I sell it to Tanner, an older man who tans leather and sews moccasins, jackets and other clothes. I don't know if Tanner is his real name, or a nickname, but it's the only thing I've ever known him as. He treats the leather with the oil to keep it supple and smooth. The cooking oil is best for it, but no one who gets tesserae can afford to part with it. No one but me.

"Good afternoon Tanner!" I say, raising my voice slightly. Tanner looks up from the hide that he's painstakingly pressing designs into. His wide, toothless smile answers and he stands, shaking violently with each dragged step. He had a stroke some years back, well before I started coming to the Hob to trade, and it left him unable to speak, with tremors, and a lame leg. His hearing has started to go too, but his leather work is some of the best I've seen. I place the jar in his shaking hands and he tucks it down into his pouch of supplies. When he hands me a couple of copper coins, less than half of the normal amount he shrugs and gives a pained look, gesturing to the mounds of unsold leather goods stacked around him. It hasn't been a good month for him. I smile at him and take the coins. "No problem." I say and I start to walk away.

He touches his hand gently to my arm and I stop, then he wanders over to his table and roots around the items sitting there. Eventually he returns and presses a small object in my hands. I look, and it's a small, circular gold pin. Real gold. Worth well more than a quart of oil. I protest, speaking loud enough that I know he hears me but he pretends he doesn't. He turns, smiles at me again and waves me away.

Shocked at the generosity of my fellow traders in the Hob, I drop the pin into my bag and turn to leave. That's when I see her. She's with Gale, as usual, and she's laughing at something he's said. They stand at Greasy Sae's stall, trading some fish. My heartbeat thunders in my ears and I freeze momentarily. I've seen Katniss at the Hob several times, though I don't think that she's ever seen me since I always leave as soon as I see her. For that I'm grateful, it is one thing that we catch each others eyes at school every so often, but if she started to notice me at the Hob, she might think I'm stalking her. She probably wouldn't scorn me, like some of the traders, who resent a Townie mingling among them, but she would definitely wonder why I was there. My world pulls back into focus, my heartbeat calming down enough that I once again hear the din of the Hob and I notice my palms are getting moist. I wipe them on my jeans, making a damp paste with the flour that cakes me. Suddenly aware of how I look, I duck out one of the large warehouse bay doors and head back to town. I have one final stop to make.

As I near the mayor's house on my way back, I run into my friend Madge Undersee, who is carrying a small bag of croissants. I like Madge; she's quiet, and solitary, which I suppose reminds me of Katniss in a way, but that is where the similarities end. Katniss, with her classic "Seam" coloring, Madge with the light coloring and high, arched cheekbones that many of the Townie kids have. With her blue eyes and blonde hair, she could be my sister. She is also friendly, if you get into a conversation with her, and I have no idea if Katniss is friendly or not, since we've never spoken. The other difference is, that I can talk to Madge without stammering, without my heart rate going crazy, without feeling like an idiot.

"Peeta!" Madge smiles at me and I fall in step next to her walking her up the steps to her door.

"Hello Madge, it's a little late for breakfast isn't it?" I nod at the croissants and her smile falters a little.

"Well," She chews her lip and looks at the ground, "Mother had a rough morning so I didn't get out as early as normal. I hope she can keep this down." Madge's mother has some disease that has taken its toll on the family. Madge doesn't talk about it much, I wouldn't even know about it if I hadn't happened upon her crying in the hallway after school a week ago. She was on her way to sign up for tesserae and felt so ashamed about the mayor's daughter having to sign up. I offered to go with her so she could act like she was just keeping me company and on the way, she told me about the Capitol doctors that have been coming to visit and how she has to watch her mother die slowly. Sometimes she spends her evenings reading to her mother, helping to bathe her, sometimes having to clean up after her mother gets sick. With the medical bills climbing, they have started selling some of the things that hold value, in order to stay afloat.

"I'm sorry to hear." I say, feeling awkward for a moment. We climb the steps in silence and when we reach the door she turns the knob and starts to say goodbye. "I have some things for you." I say, stepping through the open door without invitation.

"Um, uh- okay" she says, turning back to close the door, then changing her mind, then deciding to close it after all. I get the feeling that she doesn't have house guests very often. I set the burlap sack on the entry table, pull out the bag of grains and set it down, then reach back in for the oil.

"Where did you get this?" She asks reaching for the bag of grains. I glance at it confused, then I see the gold pin that I got from Tanner.

"In a trade down at the Hob." I say dismissing the pin and setting the oil on the table. Then I start to fold up my burlap sack.

"This was my grandmother's, she called it a good luck charm." She says quietly, and I turn my attention to her. "It was supposed to pass to the first born daughter, but after Aunt Masilee died, it was set aside for me. Father sold this months ago."

"You sold it to the leather guy?" I ask, incredulity in my voice as I try to picture Madge or the Mayor down at the black market hawking family heirlooms.

"The leather guy?" She asks, confusion in her voice. "No, father sold it to Cray." Cray is the head Peacekeeper; the local law enforcement, employed by the Capitol. Ostensibly to keep the citizens in the district safe, but really, they're here to keep us in check. I'm surprised that a Peacekeeper could make enough money to buy a gold pin. Then Madge continues. "He didn't even get very much for the pin; just a few coins."

Now I really look at the pin in her hands. There is a small bird affixed to the circle and I immediately recognize it. It's a Mockingjay, which makes me smile because I can't really picture Madge's grandmother as a rebel, and having a Mockingjay on a pin is definitely like sticking your tongue out at the Capitol.

During the uprising, the Capitol bred a new type of bird, called a Jabber-Jay, which was capable of mimicking human voices, and even repeating whole conversations. The Jabber-Jay was just one of many creatures, called Muttations, bred in the Capitol labs. The idea was that they would release the birds into the districts to gather intel. It didn't work for very long though, eventually people figured out the purpose of the birds and fed them lies. After that, the program was shut down and the birds were released into the wild. They mated with Mockingbirds and a new species was born. Mockingjays are now an ever-present reminder of a failure on the part of the Capitol.

"Take it." I say, folding the bag the rest of the way. "I was just going to trade it again for something else." I lie smoothly on my way to the door. I wasn't going to trade it; I was going to sell it and help finance the baskets.

"Are you sure?" She asks, trailing after me.

"Yeah, it means more to you than it ever will to me." I barely finish the words before Madge's arms wrap around me. I'm surprised by the embrace, but after a second I hug her back.

"Thank you, Peeta." She whispers into my shoulder. "If they draw my name, I'm wearing this into the arena. It can be my district token."

I pull away from her and hold her at arm's length. "Hey, hey. Come on. It's your first year of getting tesserae; the chances of Effie calling your name are so low you should have nothing to worry about."

Madge smiles and wipes a tear from her eye. "I better go get dressed." She glances down at the drab school clothes she's wearing and sees smears of flour that transferred from my clothes to hers. Then she looks, for the first time, at my clothes. "And you better get dressed too. Look how hideous you are!"

We laugh and I head out the door and back to the bakery.

All of the shopkeepers live above their shops so when I get back, I head in through the back kitchen door and up the stairs on the right. I bathe quickly and don my Sunday best.

When we arrive at the square, my father gives Ashtan and I long hugs, my mother gives us each a brief kiss, and Treyton claps us each on the shoulder.

The flags for Panem and District 12 are flapping in the wind, high above the Justice Building. As I walk to the roped off area for the 12-18 year olds, in front of the temporary stage that's been erected in front of the building, I look up at the flags and watch a mockingjay fly by. I cluster near a group of other 16 year old boys and look over at the girls' side. Katniss hasn't arrived yet. Madge is already there, in a pretty white dress, her blonde curls held back with a pink ribbon, she looks like she's been crying. I see the pin glinting in the sunlight.

Peacekeepers surround the stage and spread out around the square, dispersing among the crowd. I hate when the square is packed like this, the crush of bodies, the noise, it's so jarring and harsh. It doesn't help that the square sits right outside my bedroom window, so any time there is a street fair or public market I can't escape the noise.

Finally, I see her. Katniss drops her sister off with the other 12 year old girls and goes to stand with the 16s. She looks broody, distracted and aloof, like she always does. She is wearing a dress I've never seen before, it's a soft baby blue that hugs her shape at the top and flares out just above the knees. It's modest but ultimately alluring, and the ornate braid in her hair looks sophisticated and classy. My heart starts to do its funny little dance and I barely hear the Mayor as he starts his annual speech about the history of Panem and how the Hunger Games came to be. I've heard the speech enough times that I could recite it by heart so I tune him out. I don't care about the famines, the floods or the fires. I don't care that they destroyed District 13 and defeated the other twelve. What I care about is the dead children at the hands of our government. With this being the 74th Hunger Games, the Capitol has murdered over 800 children in less than a century, all to keep its citizens controlled by fear and hunger.

Mayer Undersee announces the name of our only living victor, Haymitch Abernathy, and he stumbles drunk on stage, landing in one of three chairs that were set up. I'm not surprised that he's even more plastered than when I saw him just two hours before. There is some scattered, half-hearted applause from the crowd and Haymitch leans over to Effie, the pink haired, white-faced, Capitol escort who will be taking the two tributes to the Games. Effie scoots as far over in her chair as she can while Haymitch tries to hug her, but the tight, green dress she's wearing is hampering her movements.

Annoyed and frustrated with the debacle that Haymitch is making of the ceremony, the Mayor announces Effie Trinket, who gratefully jumps up off her chair and scurries to the podium. Despite being mauled by a drunk, Effie manages to plaster a smile on her face and calls out in her chirpy Capitol accent "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" When she says this, I hear the boy behind me mimicking her words. Like the Mayor's speech, it's something we've heard once a year for our entire lives; in the same effervescent voice, with the same sparkling smile.

I try to pay attention to what she's saying but my focus keeps drifting to the right, where the girls stand. Where she stands. A light smile touches her lips and I don't think she even knows it's there. I follow her gaze and see that Effie's wig is slightly off-kilter from the aggressive hug. She holds it in place with one hand and with the other, starts digging into the bowl with the girl's names. I glance at Madge, who is standing stiff as a board, her eyes wide with terror. Then I look at Katniss, whose face is as white as Effie's, and I can see her lips moving in silent blessing. I find myself lifting a blessing of my own. Not Katniss Everdeen.

Effie walks up back to the podium and holds up the small piece of paper. Leaning close to the microphone she speaks loud and clear. "Primrose Everdeen."


	2. Chapter 2 - Farewell Salute

Chapter 2

The silence of the crowd echos throughout the square. Prim is only twelve, and she's small for her age, even for a kid in the Seam. All of the kids from the Seam -and a great many of the Townies- are malnourished and smaller than they should be, but Prim still looks about nine years old. She is somewhat of an anomaly because of her coloring as well. Instead of the olive skin and dark hair that is common in the Seam, she takes after her mother, who grew up in town and only moved to the Seam when she married a coal miner.

Prim holds her head high and walks from the rear of the roped off area, towards the stage. The click of her shoes on the cobblestone rings out clear, shattering the silence and the quiet, sorrowful murmurs creep through the crowd. I glance at Katniss, staring straight ahead, not even looking at her sister, and for a moment, I hate her. How can she stand there stone-faced and impassive while her little sister marches to her death? I won't let it happen. I can't volunteer in her place, but I can volunteer to be the boy tribute. I can join her in the arena and protect her.

Then, Katniss starts to sway a little and a boy at the edge of our area reaches over to catch her as she's falling. "Prim!" The stifled cry rips from her mouth and she calls out again, louder. "Prim!" She stumbles out from the crowd of girls and runs up to the stage, shoving Prim behind her, just as Prim is about to ascend the steps of the stage.

"I volunteer!" She calls out. "I volunteer as tribute!" Katniss is frantic. I realize she wasn't impassive, she was in shock. Prim is trying to pull Katniss away from the stage, a low keening wail spilling from her lips.

"Lovely!" Effie calls out, completely oblivious of what has really happened, but thrilled that something exciting is happening in her district. It is her first volunteer. "But I believe there's the small matter of introducing the reaping winner, then asking for volunteers and if one does come forth then we... um..." she hesitates, and I wonder if she even knows the protocol. I grind my teeth, aching to shout _Who cares!_ And I nearly do, when the Mayor intervenes.

"What does it matter?" the Mayor says looking sadly at both Katniss and Prim. "What does it matter? Let her come forward." I look over at Madge, and can see the relief warring with heartache plainly on her face. I've seen Madge and Katniss share lunch many times and they always seemed to pair up for projects. I think that Katniss might be Madge's best friend.

There's a shrill scream from the front of the stage and I see that Gale has pulled Prim off of Katniss and is carrying her away. Prim kicks and bucks in his arms, trying to break free, but she's no match for someone his size. He deposits Prim firmly next to her mother and returns to the roped section for the 18 year old boys. Katniss climbs the stairs and Effie grins maniacally at the cameras

"Well, bravo! Now _that's_ the spirit of the Games!" Effie says. -I swear, the woman only speaks in exclamation points.- "What's your name?" She asks Katniss, nudging her towards the podium.

"Katniss Everdeen." Her voice is solid, but hollow.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister!" Effie coos. "Don't want her to steal all the glory do we?" Beside her, the Mayor's expression changes subtly from grim to annoyed. Haymitch sways in his chair, almost like he's trying to stand up. "Come on everybody, let's give a big round of applause to our newest Tribute!" The big smile on her face falters a little when no one moves.

We all stand silent and still for a minute, then I see Tanner press his three middle fingers to his lips and hold it out to Katniss. Someone else to my left repeats the gesture, then all around the square, people are giving the silent salute. At first I am awed to see the show of respect. Then I realize, this is a farewell salute. It's what we do at a funeral. No one here thinks she has a chance of winning this thing. My cheeks get hot and I ball and un-ball my fists. I want to hit something, someone. How can the entire district be so ignorant? If anyone in all of Twelve stands a chance to win this, it's her. I know I have to volunteer now, there is no way I can let that salute be a farewell.

Haymitch has managed to get to his feet and he stumbles over to Katniss, yelling something about spunk and letting spittle fly in her face as he drapes his arm around her shoulder and leans on her. He starts towards the cameraman, still yelling, but apparently doesn't notice the edge of the stage and falls off, landing right on his head. The cameramen swarm him like moths to a flame and Effie tries to correct her wig, which is now careening dangerously to the right. Haymitch is carried off and Effie, looking dour, tries to just get things over with so she can fix her hair. She grabs the first name off the top of the glass ball for the boys and returns to the podium. I swallow hard and take a deep breath, ready to give Effie her second volunteer of the day.

"Peeta Mellark." My eyes are trained on Katniss when Effie calls out the name and I see her nose wrinkle, her brow furrow and her lip curl, the telltale flicker of revulsion that crosses her face. As Effie speaks, I open my mouth to volunteer, then realize what she said. A shiver wracks my body and I move stiff legged to the edge of the rope and make my way up on the stage. I stand next to her but Katniss doesn't look at me, for some unknown reason she is repulsed by the idea of me being in the Games with her. Despair swallows me as I realize that this girl may never love me back. I stand stiffly next to her throughout the rest of the Mayor's yearly speeches, acutely aware of her every breath. I never took the chance to talk to her before, now this is the very last chance I'll have. Somehow, someway, I will make sure she comes back home to district 12, and I will find the courage to tell her I love her. I just hope she doesn't kill me before I have the chance.

We shake hands and I gently squeeze hers. She doesn't look up at me, but her hand stills. At least now she's aware of me.

* * *

Inside the Justice Building I'm taken to a room that looks like it is almost never used. Dust sits on several surfaces, but not on the green velvet couch and chairs, which I assume were uncovered this day. A tall lamp with a dingy shade glows in the corner, it's soft glow barely penetrating a few feet. The bulk of the light is natural, streaming in through gap between the matching velvet curtains which cover the floor-to-ceiling windows. I walk over to the window and push the curtains open. The square is below and I watch dispassionately as the citizens of district 12 disperse and get on with their day off.

The door to the room opens and I turn to see my whole family coming in to say goodbye. The peacekeeper looks at me and says I have one hour for goodbyes. I cross the room over to them and hug my mother, then each of my brothers, leaving my father for last. He holds me so tight I can barely breathe, but I don't care. Tears sting my eyes and I can feel my father's shirt get damp below my cheek. I wipe my eyes before I lift my head, ashamed at my weakness.

I pull back and look him in the eyes. "You have to take care of them." My father nods and I don't need to explain. Father has loved Mrs. Everdeen for a long time, and everyone who meets Prim adores her.

My father takes my hand in his and places a heavy ring in my palm. It's the traditional wedding ring for our district. The dark iron resembling coal. "For your token." he says. We sit down with the others and for a while we're all quiet.

It is Treyton who finally breaks the silence. "So are you finally gonna tell her?" He asks, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. Leave it to Trey to ask probably the most inappropriate question you can think of.

"Tell who what?" My mother asks. She's never really followed anything going on with me, though she could tell you the name of every girl Trey or Ash have ever liked.

"Katniss." Trey smirks, "That he loves her."

"That filthy girl from the Seam that sells you squirrels when you think I'm not looking?" Mother's nose wrinkles in disgust then she turns thoughtful. "You know, Maybe District 12 will finally have a winner. She's a survivor, that one."

Her words sting, of course she would say that Katniss could win, not even considering that I might. And it's true, I don't plan on coming back to District 12, but I would have liked it if my mother had an inkling of faith in me. I smile about the squirrel bit though. Father though he was being so sneaky with those, we all though he pulled off a decent ruse, but it seems that mother has been wise to his tricks the whole time.

"Speaking of surviving," mother continues, "We're probably going to have to hire someone to frost the cakes now that you're gone, these two can't decorate if their life depended on it." She indicates at my brothers and shakes her head in disgust. I keep my face placid, but inside I'm screaming. _I am about to enter an arena with 23 kids that are all going to try to kill me, and _you're_ worried about who is going to decorate the cakes?_She blathers on about the bakery for a few more minutes and nod where needed, but I have stopped listening to her.

When the Peacekeeper comes to lead them out, I'm actually a little grateful. My father pauses just before they leave and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a white package of cookies. Another thing he has done every year. He calls the small cookie packs "hope" and he visits both tributes every year to give them some hope. I refrain from crying again and clear my throat. "Thanks." I whisper, not trusting my full voice.

I sit down on the couch, not eating the cookies, just pinching my eyes shut as I take in the full scope of what lies ahead. I'm going in to the arena. Before I do, I'll have a few days where I go to training where I can talk to Katniss and I'll have to work in there, somehow, that I love her. Should be easy, right? Knowing that I only have a few more weeks at the most before I am dead, is both terrifying and oddly freeing.

The door opens again and I open my eyes, surprised to see Madge. I clamber to my feet and she gives me a hug. I feel moisture on my shoulder and I lightly touch her head, stroking her hair soothingly. I am a bit taken aback by her tears. I mean, Madge and I are somewhat friends, but we were never that close. She was too quiet to really get to know her well.

"I love you." She whispers against my chest and I stiffen slightly. _What? _I'm not even sure that I heard what I think I heard, but she pulls her head up to look at me. "I love you Peeta." She says again, more clearly this time. I stand there for a minute, trying to figure out what is going on. Madge loves me? How can she love me? We've barely established a light friendship. I realize that I have the same type of one-sided love for Katniss and never questioned it. I immediately feel terrible. I know how it feels to suffer from unrequited love, having lived with it for 11 years, all it took was hearing Katniss sing when we were five years old, and I was completely lost.

"I know this isn't fair." Madge continues, "I know you can't see any girl but Katniss, which is probably why I gravitated to her. I guess I pretended that you were looking at me, any time I caught you looking at her. Funny that my crush on the guy who liked her could be the basis for a friendship." She chuckles a little, aware that she's babbling, then looks into my eyes. "I just had to say goodbye. And I had to tell you once how I feel."

I'm quiet for a second, then I lean down and press my lips to hers. I don't analyze to see why her indication that I won't return doesn't hurt like my mother's, I just give freely of myself for this minute. A tentative hand reaches up to stroke my neck and slender fingers wrap into my hair. I gently cup her face in my palms and deepen the kiss. I don't love Madge, but I think if I had never met Katniss, that I could love her.

Madge slowly pulls away, her breathing rapid and shallow, her pulse hammering so hard I can feel it, and she looks into my eyes. "Try to come home." She whispers. She takes a step back and I feel a rush of cold air as our bodies separate. That's when I notice that my pulse and breathing aren't as calm as I thought.

I touch the pin with the Mockingjay that glistens on her dress. "I don't think I'll ever be able to see a Mockingjay without thinking of you." I say, running my finger around the circle of the pin. The rise and fall of her chest stills as she holds her breath and I almost feel like I'm teasing her. Since I'm not planning on coming home though, I figure there is no harm in a little flirtation.

She reaches for the pin, fiddling with the release. "Take it with you, as your token." She says, the pin resisting her efforts.

I place my hand over hers, stilling the movements and I hold up my father's ring. "I already have my token." She looks at the ring and nods, releasing the pin.

"Come home." She whispers. "Just- Come home to me Peeta." She looks in my eyes and reaches up to stroke the side of my cheek.

A peacekeeper opens the door and Madge leaves with one final kiss goodbye. I have no other visitors and spend the remainder of the hour eating the cookies and trying to figure out just how I can keep Katniss alive in the arena.


	3. Chapter 3 - I Miss Supper?

Chapter 3

The ride from the Justice Building to the train station is silent. Effie spends the time correcting her make up, the wig having been fixed when we were saying our goodbyes. Haymitch isn't present, presumably being taken to the train by the Capitol doctors who carted him off from the ceremony. Katniss is her normal standoffish self, the blank expression on her face practiced to perfection. I've seen the expression on her face so many times, I'm not sure if it's just how she is, or if this is something she's doing for the camera.

I know my own face is slightly puffy from having cried earlier, and I know I should care, since everything is being filmed for all of Panem to see, but I don't care. Commentators will over analyze my tears, they will make assumptions that I am weak minded, or maybe simple-minded and let them think what they want of the tears, I'm not insecure enough to worry about them. They will discuss my physique, which is admittedly better than most tributes outside of the career pack. The career pack though, gets their physique from training for the Hunger Games, working with weights and weapons so that they are prepared, even though this is technically not allowed. They are so arrogant that they volunteer, assuming from the moment they speak the word "Volunteer" that they have already won the Games. My strength comes from the work done daily in the bakery. Giant sacks of flour and sugar aren't exactly easy for many to manage, but throwing them around in the bakery has given me a solid frame and I know that it is probably enough to give me an edge in the arena.

The car pulls up to the train station and we pause on the platform, allowing the cameramen to film us for a minute. Effie is smiling manically, like she has just won the Hunger Games; Katniss looks bored and sullen, like the whole thing is beneath her. I suppose I am somewhere in between. For a minute the dour expression on Katniss's face has me worried. She won't be getting many sponsors if she acts like she despises them. I will have to find a way to put her in a good light.

The inside of the train reeks with opulence. Katniss and I are each taken to our own room and told to be in the dining room in an hour. The room is larger than one in the justice building with a large closet and a private bath. The bedroom has lush carpets in a dusty rose, offset by the rich mahogany walls and a sitting area with matching furniture in a rich cream with gray-blue cabbage roses and gold accents. A bowl sits on a table containing all manner of fruits, many of which I've never seen. I pick up a yellow piece of fruit that looks like a star when turned on end, then set it down and opt for an orange. I wander through the rest of the space while eating the orange then decide to shower before dinner.

When I head down the bouncing and swaying hallway to the dining room I run into Haymitch. He doesn't seem any more worse for the wear after his tumble, but he's still so drunk he probably doens't even know it happened. "Hey! Pika, right! I see you at Ripper's. You're a tribute? Rotten Games. Ruin everything." He rambles for a good minute, not letting me speak, then belches in my face, the sour alcohol stench nearly making me gag. "I'm gonna take a nap." He mumbles, then stumbles away, entering the next door on the right.

I proceed to the dining room and take a seat; no one else is there. A pair of Capitol attendants come in and set the table, and I'm amazed by how many dishes are needed for one meal. A large gold plate, topped with a thin, elegantly patterned glass plate, then a smaller crystal one, three crystal glasses, several forks, a spoon and two knives, and, a cloth napkin go in each place. The middle of the table gets a large, flower centerpiece and several candles. After they finish with the table, the attendants bow to me and leave quietly.

A minute later, Effie and Katniss walk in. I immediately see the gold Mockingjay pin on the green outfit that Katniss has on. Madge's pin. _Where did she get that?_ I wonder, and for a second I think about the kiss that Madge and I shared. Instinctively I know. After visiting me, Madge must have gone to see Katniss. But why give her the pin? I remember she said she would wear it as her token in the ring, but she seemed so happy when she got it back, I can't imagine why she would give it away. Then I remember the look in her eye when she told me to come home, and I know. She wants me to look at Katniss and think of her. So that I don't sacrifice myself in order to send Katniss home. For the first time I'm torn about my plan to save Katniss. It's one thing to walk to your death knowing that you'll have nothing to lose, but now I have something I can lose. True, I'll never love Madge the way I love Katniss, but I'm sure we could be quite happy together, if I am the victor.

"Where's Haymitch?" Effie asks, a slight smile on her face that he's not here.

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap." I reply.

"Well, it's been an exhausting day!" Effie says, the smile broadening for a flicker of a second before she puts her affable mask back on. They sit down and Capitol attendants start bringing us food. Course after course of the most decadent and flavorful food I've ever had. Effie tells us as each course is served to save room because there is more to come. We start with a creamy carrot soup, then salad, followed by pork chops with garlic mashed potatoes.

As I'm finishing the last bite of my main course, Effie smiles at me. "At least, you two have decent manners. The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages." She sniffs and takes a dainty bite of potatoes. "It completely upset my digestion."

For some reason, her comment angers Katniss, who immediately sets down her fork and picks up the rest of her pork chop, scooping it in the mashed potatoes and making a pointed display of eating with her hands. The Capitol attendants clear our dishes and bring out the next course, some of the same fruits that were in our rooms with a selection of cheeses. Last thing the bring out is a whole, large, chocolate cake. Having baked and decorated more cakes than most people see in their life, I am extra critical of the cake. The icing is smooth and creamy, complete with chocolate sugar flowers and intricate designs piped all around. The crumb of the cake is dense and moist, the chocolate is rich and dark. In short, I can find no fault with the cake. Katniss seems to approve as well as she eats three slices, all with her hands.

I eat more of each course than is decent, but it's so delicious I cannot help it. Katniss takes a deep breath and wipes her chocolatey fingers on the tablecloth. She has eaten at least as much as I have, probably more. Effie Trinket huffs at Katniss's immature actions and ushers us out of the dining room into a sitting area with a large television and several plush chairs.

We watch the recap of the reapings starting with the aptly named, Glimmer; a gorgeous girl with long, blonde hair, green eyes and curves in all the right places, from District 1. One by one, names are drawn, with kids mounting the stage, sometimes having another volunteer in their place. The kids from Districts 1, 2 and 4 are, as usual, more of the formidable contenders. The will, no doubt, join together to form a pack. The kids from those Districts are referred to as the Career pack back in 12, because they always group together in the beginning to gang up on the weaker, less trained tributes.

By the time District 11 is on, I've forgotten the names and faces of most of the tributes already. They call the girl's name, Rue, and a delicate flower of a girl with dark skin and hair slowly climbs the steps. I remember the cake I decorated for the families of those reaped in 12 and a chill runs up my spine. I suddenly wonder if my father delivered the basket of prayers with the Rue flower cake to the Everdeen home, and if my mother enjoyed the delicacies that she so hated us giving away. A monstrous, silent boy is called after no one volunteers for Rue, and joins her on the stage. No one volunteers for him either.

Then I see Effie, smiling in spite of her already messed up pink wig, announcing Prim's name. I'm surprised that only a couple seconds pass before Katniss volunteers because it felt like much longer when it was happening. The commentators joke about our district being a bit backwards, then laugh as Haymitch falls off the stage.

When my name is called you can see my cheeks turn pink and I'm suddenly embarrassed at how obviously I am staring at Katniss. I glance at her now, but she is oblivious to how I was blushing madly when we shook hands. I feel my cheeks heating again and I make a concentrated effort not to look at Katniss now.

The anthem plays and Effie Trinket turns off the television set. She touches her hair, ensuring that the wig is not disheveled, as it was on stage, and humphs. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior."

She is so ridiculously clueless to his nature that I laugh out loud. "He was drunk," I say. "He's drunk every year."

"Every day," Katniss adds rolling her eyes at Effie.

"Yes," says Effie, her tone growing a little tart as she looks pointedly at Katniss. "How odd you two find it amusing. You know, your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!"

Haymitch chooses this moment to stumble into the compartment. "I miss supper?" he says, slurring the words. Then he vomits on the floor and falls into the pool.

"So laugh away!" says Effie, with a final smirk, which is lost on Katniss because she's staring in horror at her mentor. Effie hops around the mess and leaves the room.


	4. Chapter 4 - Journey to the Capitol

My mentor is revolting. Not even taking into account the disgusting mess he's made of himself. I glance at Katniss and sigh inwardly. I can't just leave Haymitch laying in a pool of vomit, even if it is his own. Like it or not, I'm tied to him and he's probably the only one who will be able to help me keep Katniss alive. I reach down to pull Haymitch to his feet, and without a word, Katniss reaches down and grabs his other arm.

"I tripped?" Haymitch asks, then wrinkles his nose. "Smells bad."

"Let's get you back to your room," I say. "Clean you up a bit."

Haymitch isn't much help in getting back to his compartment and I'm glad I saw where he went before dinner, because he doesn't even seem to know where he is. When we get him to his room, we bypass the ornate furniture and take him straight to the bathroom. He barely stirs when we turn the shower on him. The look of pure horror on Katniss's face is so innocent that I nearly smile.

"It's okay," I tell her. "I'll take it from here."

The relief that washes over her is so palpable, I can't contain the smile this time. She's looking at Haymitch, obviously grateful at not having to bathe him. "All right," she says. "I can send one of the Capitol people to help you."

My smile disappears at her words. "No. I don't want them." I say.

She shrugs and leaves Haymitch in my hands. I prop him up to sitting and start the unpleasant task of cleaning him up. Thankfully, he's wearing a button down shirt, so I don't have to get too close to him in order to strip him down.

An hour later, I head to my own chambers, soaked and exhausted; Haymitch is completely clean and awake enough to dress himself. Manhandling him to remove his clothes and wash him was more difficult to do than I thought it would be, but I learned quickly that a slimy, soaking wet, limp body is nothing like a sack of flour. His dead weight flopped around, and twice he almost knocked me over, flailing wildly when he suddenly became alert, only to pass out in his stupor and once again become dead weight. When he was cleaned and rinsed I blasted him with cold water, to shock him out of his stupor and he swung at me, shrieking at the abrupt change in temperature. That time I did fall down and whatever parts of me that had remained dry got quickly soaked.

Haymitch had snapped off the water and glowered at me. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" He snatched a towel from the shelf by the shower and wrapped it around his waist.

"Washing the puke off you." I replied, grabbing a towel of my own.

"You puked?" He asked.

"You did." I said, then walked out of the bathroom.

Haymitch cocked an eyebrow at me and decided to let it go. "I'm going to take a nap." He said, then fell down on his bed, leaving me to let myself out of his room.

Back in my room I take a shower, making sure that none of the vomit sticks to me, and decide that the clothes I was wearing should be incinerated.

I open drawer after drawer of clothes, finding nothing that I want to wear to bed, eventually just slipping into bed in my boxers. I lay awake long into the evening, worrying over what I might face in the arena, eventually falling into a dreamless sleep.

It's at least two hours before dawn when I wake, my body trained after years of working in the bakery to be up and working early enough for the bakery to open at first light.

I wander the train from the front to the back, half way through, I run into a Capitol attendant who offers me a mug with a steaming brown beverage. I take a whiff and am surprised to smell chocolate. I love chocolate, though, unless I get splattered with frosting when I am decorating a cake, I almost never get to have it. And I've never seen it as a beverage.

"What's this?" I ask.

"You've never had hot chocolate before?" The attendant asks and half smirks as he walks away.

I take a sip and the warm liquid seems to coat my insides. I cup the mug of hot chocolate in my hands and continue towards the back of the train. The rear car has a bench seat that wraps around the entire border, the walls and ceiling are nothing but a dome of windows affording a view on all sides. I drink the hot chocolate and watch the country fly by until the sun starts to rise over the horizon.

The colors are vibrant and clear, and I'm reminded of Madge, and the one sunrise that we shared. It was the day she took home her first tessera rations. I helped her carry them and she invited me to stay. We lay in the grass behind her house and talked the whole night. She told me about how her mother got sick, how her mother lost a child during a particularly difficult labor. I knew of course that Madge's younger brother had died at birth, and that her mother dropped out of the public eye after that, but most of town just assumed she was grieving. Madge was only five at the time, she lost her brother, her mother got sick, and her father spent all his energy balancing his political career and trying to find a healer for her mother, there was no time left to give to his daughter.

I tell her about my own younger sister. She didn't die at birth, but she was only two when she died. It was about the same time that Madge lost her brother. Before that, my mother had showered me with affection. But she blamed me for little Daisy's death and things were never the same between us.

Madge cradled her head on my shoulder while I talked and eventually drifted to sleep. I lay away next to her, listening to the sound of her breath, wondering about how I had become so important to her so quickly. When the sun rose I woke her gently and we watched it together. The oranges, pinks and reds of the sky tinged her face, the glow warming her cheeks. She's very pretty in the morning and I told her so. Then for some reason she got quiet and said she thought I should get home. I didn't understand, but I did as she asked.

By the time the sun finishes rising over Panem, I have drained the last of the hot chocolate and I am hungry, so I leave the rear compartment and find my way to the dining car. I get another cup of hot chocolate and load up a plate with eggs, sausages, fruit and a tall stack of thin, flat cakes, which I drown in butter and syrup.

I have finished off one plate and have started on a second when Haymitch shows up. He's already half drunk and pours a cup of coffee, adding a good measure of white liquor to top off the mug. Effie Trinket comes in, pours her own coffee and smiles at me. "Are you ready for a big, big, big day?"

"I guess." I say. I pick up a roll from the basket in the middle of the table and break off a piece, dipping it in the hot chocolate.

"I see you've cleaned up." She says to Haymitch, sniffing slightly and turning up her nose. Her distaste plain on her face.

"What's the matter honey?" Haymitch asks, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Wanted to bathe me yourself? Don't worry, you can join me tonight." He takes a drink of his coffee and laughs.

"How dare you!" Effie exclaims and storms towards the door. Katniss arrives right as Effie is leaving.

"Sit down! Sit down!" Says Haymitch, waving Katniss in. She sits and stares at the food she's been given, then reaches for a mug of hot chocolate, looking even more puzzled about it than I was, and I wonder for a minute if she's ever had chocolate before.

"They call it hot chocolate," I say, smiling at her. "It's good."

She takes a tentative sip, then she drinks the entire glass. When the cup is drained she digs into her food with relish, eating so fast, I wonder if she even tastes the food as it's going down. I admit that I probably looked as ravenous when I started eating, but luckily she wasn't in the dining room to see it. I dip more roll in the hot chocolate, savoring the saltiness of the bread combined with the sweet chocolate.

Katniss scowls at Haymitch, but he doesn't seem to notice. "So, you're supposed to give us advice," she says, contempt lacing her voice.

"Here's some advice," says Haymitch. "Stay alive." He laughs at his words and I can feel bitterness rising in me and my jaw hardens, working to hold back my anger. His drinking was funny when he fell off the stage, pathetic when I had to bathe him the night before, but now, when he's supposed to be the one to help us survive in the arena, it's infuriating.

"That's very funny," I say. Haymitch smiles at me and picks up a glass of red wine. Suddenly I can't stand his smugness any longer and I slap the glass out of his hand. "Only, not to us."

Haymitch's smile is gone and he glowers at me for a second. Then he punches my square in the jaw. It's so unexpected that I don't have time to brace for it and I fall out of my chair from the force. I hear a thunk on the table and Haymitch sits back in his chair. "Well, what's this? Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

I grab a handful of ice from under the fruit to put on my jaw, but Haymitch stops me. "No, let the bruise show," he says. "The audience with think you've mixed it up with another tribute, before you've even made it to the arena."

"That's against the rules" I say.

"Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better." Haymitch turns to look at Katniss then indicates a knife standing upright on the table. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"

In reply, Katniss pulls the knife from the table and throws it at the wall, where it sticks in between two panels.

"Stand over here, both of you." says Haymitch. When we do he circles us, each loop making him a little more dizzy. He mutters about how attractive we could be while he walks. After the third loop he stops walking as starts swaying. "All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking and I'll stay sober enough to help you."

It's not much of a deal, but it's better than nothing. "Fine," I say.

"So help us," says Katniss. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone who-"

"One thing at a time," Haymitch cuts her off. "In a few minutes we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist." He glances at both of us, but I can tell he's talking to Katniss.

"But-" she starts to protest.

"No buts. Don't resist," he repeats. Then he picks up his bottle of liquor and saunters from the room. As soon as the door closes behind him, the dining car goes dark. The lights are still burning bright, but the sudden absence of the sun is so apparent that it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. After a minute it comes clear that we are in the tunnel that leads through the mountains to the Capitol. The towering mountain range are the reason that the Capitol was placed in the city once called Albuquerque. The impassable terrain became a natural barrier against the rebel forces to the east which gave the Capitol the edge they needed to beat back the districts. It was then that the Treaty of Treason was written and the Hunger Games were born.

After a while, the train slows down and I can hear a noise above the hissing of the breaks. It takes me a minute to figure out what the noise is, then it becomes louder and I can tell, it's the thundering din of a crowd cheering. Then sunlight fills the compartment again and they come into view. Hundreds of Capitol residents crowd the edges of the train tracks cheering for the tribute train. I step up to the window and look out, the Capitol is beautiful. Bright, vivid colors, beautiful architecture and the surfaces all seem to sparkle. Katniss steps up beside me, her sour pout temporarily replaced by a look of wonder.

The people are waving at us, excited to see the tributes. I wave back, smiling at them. They're clueless, but their probably rich, and if they like me, maybe they will help me in the arena. Katniss steps down from the window, her sour expression back.

When we pull into the station, Katniss is staring at me and I shrug at her. "Who knows," I say. "One of them may be rich." She shakes her head and turns from me as the train pulls to a stop.


	5. Chapter 5 - Opening Ceremonies

Katniss is whisked away by a trio of Capitol attendants as soon as the train pulls to a stop, amid high pitched murmurs of "filthy nails", "hairier than a bear" and "elbows feel like a rhino" and I wait in the dining car with Haymitch for my own prep team to take me away. True to his word, Haymitch pours himself a cup of coffee, though, I see he still adds a decent pour of white liquor to the cup. We sit in silence as the hour passes, Haymitch nursing his coffee and me dipping roll after roll in the hot chocolate until I can't force down another bite. After a second hour, Haymitch breaks the silence.

"I've seen you at the Hob before, haven't I?" His speech, while slightly slurred is a little clearer than it was when he surveyed me and Katniss. "At Ripper's."

I nod in reply, it's clear he's forgotten that he already asked me that in his drunken stupor the night before. Katniss has been to the hob at least as many times as I have, probably more, and he didn't say anything to her. Then again, he wasn't as lucid earlier. "I trade with her and Tanner." I say.

"Tanner," Haymitch nods slowly and falls quiet again for a minute before speaking again. "Good man. You've been trading at the hob, what, three years now?" Again surprised by the notice he's taken, I don't really know what to say, so I nod again and say nothing. Then Haymitch quirks his mouth into a smirk. "Is that how long you've had your eye on that girl?"

Color heats my cheeks and I open my mouth to deny that I've even noticed Katniss, but Effie chooses this moment to flit back into the dining room.

"Come Peeta," she chirps, "meet your prep team." She throws a glare towards Haymitch, obviously still mad about his comments that morning, and Haymitch raises his mug of coffee, winking at her in return. I can hear Haymitch's laughter follow us out of the dining car and off the train.

Once in the Remake Center my prep team makes quick work of getting me ready for my stylist. My blonde hair is trimmed and dyed, brightening the dull blonde to glow like honey, my nails are trimmed and I'm put into a chair where they attack me with various weapons of beautification. A short, slender, dark-skinned woman with a spiked fire-red mohawk and matching eyes, flicks a straight razor over my cheekbones, chin and chest, removing what hair I have in swift, efficient movements, though she leaves my arms and legs alone. "Do you want me to get down there too?" She asks, smiling at me and scraping the blade across my lower belly, removing the thin trail of hair that dips into my shorts. Her tinkling laugh bubbles out and she winks at me.

"No." I say, giving her a charming smile, because I don't really want to offend a person holding a large razor that close to me. "I appreciate the offer, but I'd like that left alone if you don't mind."

"Livius!" Says Valeria, the tall, husky woman who is the polar opposite of the woman with the blade. Her skin is as pale as snow with soft pink roses tattooed up both arms and across her chest. Her hair is flat and straight in the same white with hot pink tips at the end of the two-foot long strands. Valeria's height is amplified by the eight inch heels on her boots so that she towers above the rest of us. The weapon she wields is much less menacing than Livius's razor: a foam block with different grits of sand paper that she uses to smooth my nails. "The boy has no time for dalliances right now, Portia will be here soon. Just finish with the hair."

Quintus, who has been silently applying makeup as the ladies fiddled with my hair and nails, speaks up, "Oh, come on Valeria, the boy might be dead in a week. Let her have her fun." I take exception at the prep team treating me like nothing more than meat with a short expiration date, but what can I really do? Haymitch told me I wasn't going to like what they do to me, and really, coming from District 12, they're probably right that I don't have much of a chance of making it out of the arena alive. The short, slightly yellow tinged man with a shaved bald head and long green eyelashes grabs my chin and turns my head left and right, admiring his makeup job. "That looks good," he says, and I have to believe him because I can't see it myself, though after having powders and sticky creams smeared on me and having pencils and brushes scraped around my eyes, I am thinking that I must look ridiculous.

Livius and Valeria also stop with their fiddling and circle me, looking for any flaws. "Yes," says Livius "He looks good enough to eat."

"Thank you," a smooth voice says behind us, making Livius jump back. "That will be all." I turn to see a woman with caramel skin and thick, curly blonde hair. Her black lips draw my attention away from her heavy pinkish-purple eye make-up when she speaks to me. "Hello Peeta, I'm your stylist, Portia." She holds out a hand and I shake it, feeling the slightest prick from the sharp golden nails that tip each finger.

Her style, with her all black clothes, is a little subdued for a stylist, even with the gold nails, black lipstick and purple eyes. The simplicity of her look is as memorable as some of the outlandish outfits I've seen on stylists over the years. For this reason, I know she must be new, I would have remembered seeing her before by the sheer virtue of being simple in a sea of gaudy. "You're new." I say, not asking, so much as trying to find something to say.

"Yes," She says. "This is the first year in the games as a stylist for me and my partner, Cinna. Though, we were on the District 4 prep team for the past ten years."

"Why didn't they assign you to 4 this year then?" I ask, and I realize that I have seen her before, quiet a few times, when they introduced the prep teams for the past five winners from District 4. I wonder then, how old Portia might be, because she looks barely 20, but if she's been working in the Games for a decade then she has to be at least 30.

"New stylists always start with 10, 11 or 12. Cinna wanted 12 anyways, so here we are." She leaves it at that and I let it drop, because what else can I say? Portia circles me quietly, observing the work done by her prep team and nods in approval. "Let's eat, shall we?"

She leads me into a stark white room with white leather furniture and a window that encompasses an entire wall. I walk over to the window and peer down at the city, the glass reverberates slightly to the beat of some music drifting up from street level. A cluster of balloons float up in front of my eyes and I can feel bitter bile rising up in me at the party going on in the Capitol. Of course there is a giant celebration going on, 23 more children are about to be slaughtered for their amusement, what else would the people of the Capitol be doing right now?

Disgust pushes me away from the window and I turn to find Portia watching me. "I know," she says. "The whole thing is just awful. But until they stop shipping in you kids from the districts, I figured the best thing I can do is try to keep one of you alive. First one I helped was a young boy named Finnick, since then I've helped keep four of my tributes alive, and this year, I'm going to try to keep you alive."

I try to see the Games from her perspective, as a child growing up in the Capitol. Not having to worry about having her name drawn in a reaping, but ultimately being scarred by the Games as much as those in the districts, albeit in a different way. Portia's damage is less physical and emotional than that suffered in the Districts, but her psychological damage must far surpass ours. We grow up knowing that the Games are a tool of control and fear, a show of power; the children here know it as a celebration of unity in the districts, as giving thanks to their government for the safety it provides. The tributes are celebrities to them, the victors reaching a pinnacle of fame that they long for and can never touch.

Filtering the world through her view, I wonder at her calling the Games awful. Surely, a Capitol pet like a stylist wouldn't have such a tainted view of her benefactor. Her words echo in my head _"I've helped keep four of my tributes alive"_ She took ownership of her tributes. I think of the five tributes that she sent into the Games that didn't return. It must be hard to watch kids fight and die when you consider them yours.

"So how do you plan to keep me alive?" I ask. "I'm not exactly victor material here." Portia laughs and I can't help but smile.

"You'd be surprised at what makes for victor material." She presses a button on the table and a panel opens in the center, lifting up a tureen of chicken in a sweet orange sauce, a large bowl of rice, a tray laden with breads, cheeses, meats, fruit and a pitcher of orange juice. "Go ahead and eat, we'll be getting you into you costume soon."

I grab a roll and take a large bite. "Coal miner getup?" I wash down the bread with some of the sweet, crisp orange juice and break a banana from the bunch, peel it and take an equally large bite.

"Oh, god no. Those things are hideous, I don't know why so many of the stylists have inflicted those on you kids over the years." Her words are both intriguing and dismaying. If we're supposed to dress with a nod to our district industry and if you eliminate the coal miner outfit, that only leaves coal. There has only been one attempt at coal during my sixteen years, and the tributes that year were completely nude and covered in black powder. I begin to regret not letting Livius shave everything, if I'm going to be nude, I would rather not be a hairy mess.

"So, coal then?" I ask, hoping I'm wrong. I finish the banana and I dish up a plate of rice and chicken.

"Of course, what else?" She must see the dismay on my face because she smiles at me with a wicked glint in her eyes. "And what do we do with coal?" At her words I'm ten years old, sitting in class, and the teacher has just asked a question that I feel I should know the answer to, but I only come up blank. "Why, we burn it, of course." She says, and dismay gives way to alarm.

A couple hours later, I am dressed in a formfitting black suit with a cape and headdress that are made of a special material that Portia is extremely proud of. She has told me in no uncertain terms that I will be lit on fire but that I'll be fine because it's just synthetic fire. I have my doubts, but I can't imagine the stylists actually harming us; they would lose their cushy job. My prep team and Portia lead the way to the common room where we will meet Katniss and her prep team. We arrive and Cinna and Portia give each other small hugs. Between the two prep teams and stylists, there are eight people between me and Katniss; I crane my head to look around them.

The entourage breaks off and for a second, the world tilts off-kilter, my vision focusing on her, everything else fading away. She's wearing the same thing as me and the tight fabric hugs her curves, accentuating the sensuous shape that I always assumed she had, but she always kept hidden under her masculine hunting clothes. Her hair is braided down her back and the light touch of makeup that has been applied makes her shimmer. The thundering pulse in my ears obscures the instructions that Portia gives me and I break the stare I hold on Katniss. When I remember to breath again, the sounds of the prep teams congratulating themselves and gushing over our looks comes rushing to assault my ears and I belatedly turn to Portia to see what she wanted. She adjusts my headdress and smooths a minuscule wrinkle from my cape.

We descend to the bottom level of the remake center, which has the smell of a farm, which isn't surprising considering there are 48 horses and 24 teenagers being herded around. There are twelve chariots lined up, each with a set of four horses to pull the pair from each district to the city center, where the opening ceremonies will take place. Portia and Cinna lead us to the final chariot in the row which is black and silver with red trim and four black horses. Portia makes a couple of adjustments and steps back.

" This is going to be so great." She says, grinning and turning away from me to talk to Cinna. I step up onto the chariot and hold out my hand to help Katniss up, but she's preoccupied and doesn't notice, hoisting herself up. I let my hand drop down and grip the rail for stability.

"What do you think?" Katniss whispers. "About the flames?" I can hear apprehension plain in her voice. Apparently she doesn't trust her stylist as much as I trust mine. For a second I wonder if it's because I'm used to fire and burns -working around the ovens as much as I do, I'm bound to get burned- which gives me confidence, or if I actually trust Portia. Either one could be true. I like Portia's straightforwardness, how she didn't try to pretend that she was better than district twelve, but also made it plain that we weren't her first choice. In the end, I decide it doesn't matter and what matters is the scared girl beside me and making her feel better.

"I'll rip off your cape if you rip off mine." I whisper back through gritted teeth, earning a slight smile from her.

"Deal," she says. "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what they said, but I don't think he considered this angle."

Who knows with Haymitch, because really, would it have made a difference to him if he knew their plans? Probably not. But saying this won't earn me another smile so instead I say, "Where is Haymitch anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?"

"With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame." She's smiling now, the worry briefly replaced with amusement and I can feel my heart start galloping. It's the first time she's ever really smiled at me. I laugh out loud, genuine and full of mirth, she laughs too, but again, I can hear the nerves in her voice.

The first notes of the opening music blast through speakers throughout the Capitol and echo around the stable. Two large doors open and the first chariot steps out into the falling twilight and starts down the twenty minute ride through the city. After a minute, the second chariot is on it's way. The crowd clustered outside the door goes crazy, the first few districts always being crowd favorites.

Before long we're poised, ready to start out the door, and Cinna appears with a lighted torch. For an instant my bravado over the flames is gone and I'm worried about being burned. "Here we go then," Cinna says, and my cape is ablaze. Reality is slightly disjointed though when I feel no heat. At once I can relax and I don't even flinch when Cinna lights the headdress. "It works." He smiles at Katniss and touches her chin slightly. "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!"

He jumps off the chariot then turns back and shouts something at us. We can't hear him but he gestures and I understand. I look at Katniss and the heat that I didn't notice with the cape is starting to pool in me. The flames make her look radiant and even if I didn't understand Cinna, I'd have used it as an excuse.

"I think he said for us to hold hands," I say. And I take her right hand in my left, lacing our fingers together. She looks to Cinna and I admire the profile of her face. Cinna must have indicated yes because she holds on to my hand tightly and flicks a shy smile at me.

When we emerge from the large doors I can hear gasps and shrieks as the crowd sees the flames, but the alarm rapidly transforms into delight and people start cheering and calling out "District Twelve!" I immediately wave to the crowd, a wide grin on my face. I can tell that we're drawing more than our fair share of attention, and I'm glad. The more we stand out for the crowd, the more likely they'll sponsor us and the more likely I can send Katniss home a victor.

Her grip on my hand tightens and I gently squeeze her hand back. Someone throws a kiss and Katniss blows one back. She's charming and lovely, and nothing like herself, but I like this smiling Katniss. Large screens around the city are showing the parade and I can see that the cameras, like moths, have zeroed in on our flames and are all but ignoring the other districts.

When we arrive at the City Circle and stop, Katniss begins to release my hand, but I'm not ready to lose the contact so I tighten my grip. "No, don't let go of me," I say, thinking quick on my feet, which is made all the more difficult when I look at her and my brain starts to go all haywire. "Please. I might fall out of this thing."

She agrees and I revel a while longer in the delicious feel of her soft fingers woven with mine. Ridiculously, I think of Quintus at this moment. _ Oh, come on Valeria, the boy might be dead in a week. Let her have her fun. _At this moment I agree and I greedily soak up every second of her touch that I can, before my chance is gone.

The chariots come to a halt in front of President Snow's mansion and the music comes to an end, perfectly timed to match the parade of the districts. The anthem plays and I catch a glimpse of Katniss and I on one of the many screens. She's gorgeous, and even lit with flames myself, I don't hold a candle to her. We make a final loop around the circle then disappear into the Training Center, where we'll spend the next two weeks.

The doors close behind us and you can't miss the reaction of the other tributes. Every girl glares at Katniss, envy plain on their faces. Even Glimmer, who looks sensational, painted silver and gilded with glittering jewels, has daggers in her eyes. The boy tributes have a mixture of envy, disgust, anger, and, of course, desire when they look at her. I watch the boy from District Two for a while whose expression is pure lust and I can tell he has particularly lascivious thoughts. My hackles rise and I decide in that moment that I hate him.

Our capes and headdresses are removed and Portia extinguishes them with a spray can. Katniss releases my fingers then and not having another excuse to keep holding them, I let go. We massage our hands and I begin feeling awkward and unsure, like I always do when I am around her.

"Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there." I say, lying, but hoping that looking vulnerable will keep her attention.

"It didn't show," she says, trying to sooth what she thinks is a hurt ego. "I'm sure no one noticed."

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you," I say, looking her straight in the eyes. "You should wear flames more often, they suit you." I smile, feeling both bold for saying anything at all and shy because I didn't say near what I truly feel.

She surprises me by going up on her toes and kissing my cheek. Her lips touch my bruise and while a little pain may have registered on some level, it's completely overrun by the elation that courses through me. I may actually have a chance for a little happiness with Katniss before I die, even if it will only be a couple weeks.


	6. Chapter 6 - Delly's Double

Katniss, Cinna and I cram into one of the two crystal elevators with two other stylists and another tribute, a girl dressed as a tree. Cinna presses the button Labeled 12 and we shoot into the air, stopping at 5 and 8 to deposit the other passengers. The elevators are shaped like eggs and the clear sides, top and bottom allow the passengers a full view of the Capitol as they ascend to their floor. Each district has it's own floor, District 12 having the top floor. Each time the elevator slows to a stop at a floor and speeds up again on the journey upward, my stomach lurches and I keep my eyes closed against the nausea. Somewhere around the seventh floor I open them to see where we are and accidentally look through the glass floor and catch a glimpse of the receding city below. Dizziness strikes and I have to pinch my eyes shut and grip the bar to keep from falling over.

When the elevator slows the final time and the quiet woman's voice announces "District Twelve" I open my eyes again and I can see that Katniss has absolutely no problem with heights and seems to have enjoyed rocketing up in the air like that. I guess some people are crazy like that.

The doors of the elevator open into a small entryway and a few steps down there is a grand sitting room complete with plush chairs, thick, soft carpet, sculptures, art on the walls and a giant television. Hallways lead off to either side and beyond the sitting room, up some steps is a dining room, complete with service for six set up. The best thing about the room is that Effie is standing in the entryway to greet us, and Haymitch is nowhere in sight.

"Katniss! Peeta!" Effie exclaims in delight and pulls us each in for a hug. "You two were absolutely gorgeous! Cinna, your costumes were brilliant!" Cinna starts to say something about Portia but Effie talks over him, oblivious to his words. "And the two of you! So charming. So elegant. You definitely behaved like Champions. I have been busy all day, talking to potential sponsors, and of course, I know everybody who's _anybody_ in the Capitol so chances are we'll have some lovely sponsors for you."

A ding announces the arrival of the second elevator and Portia joins us. As she prattles on, Effie leads us down the steps to the sitting area. "I've been very mysterious though, because of course, Haymitch hasn't bothered telling me your strategies." She sniffs slightly, obviously thinking that she should be privy to all information about us. "I've done the best with what I had to work with though. How Katniss sacrificed herself for her sister. How you've both successfully struggled to overcome the barbarism of your district."

Katniss wrinkles her nose at this and I take exception myself. _Overcome_? How have we overcome anything? We're in the games, aren't we? Talk about barbarism.

"Everyone has their reservations, naturally. You being from the coal district. But I said, and this was very clever of me, I said, 'Well, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls!'" Effie grins at us and though we all know that she's wrong, you can tell she's pleased with herself so we good-naturedly agree that she was clever.

"That's brilliant, Effie!" Portia says and I have to look close at her to see if she's being kind, or truly thinks that what Effie has said is clever. I end up deciding that she's being nice, and hope that anyone that Effie talked to today is not very clever themselves.

"Unfortunately," She sniffs again, "I can't seal the sponsor deals for you. Only Haymitch can do that. But don't worry, I'll get him to the table at gunpoint if necessary."

"Thank you Effie," says Cinna. "You've done great."

"Thank you!" She says, beaming at the stylist. "I'm going to go make some arrangements for tomorrow. Dinner will be in an hour so go clean up. Katniss, to the left, Peeta to the right." She points at the hallways when she talks then dashes to the elevators and disappears into one of them.

The suite of rooms is even more opulent than the train, larger than the bakery and our living quarters at home, and has more gizmos and automated features than I could have ever imagined was possible. Switches for the lights, the drapes, the windows, one that changes the color of the walls, and a dozen others that I don't play with right away. There is a little booklet of voice commands and I try a couple out. "Music." I say and a modulated female voice responds.

"Music. What genre?" I consult the list of options and pick one I've never heard of.

"Classic rock." The voice repeats my request and a blast of music pours from speakers embedded in the walls. Someone plays a guitar that sounds like it's been distorted, the music comes out crunchy and sharp. They repeat the same three chords and some drums start up, the music is simple, but I find myself nodding my head along with the beat. When the singer starts his voice is whiny and it's like he's half screaming, but again, even though it's nothing like the music I've heard at home, I enjoy it. The chorus begins and the singer talks about being on a highway to hell, the irony is not lost on me that I am on the path to my death. The thought draws me up short and I feel like the walls around me are closing in. "Music off." I say and the music stops.

I walk out of the room and almost immediately run into Cinna. "Hi Cinna, I was just..." I trail off, I'm not sure if I'm supposed to stay in my room or not. I glance around and see the balcony off the side of the dining room and know that's exactly what I'm looking for. "I just need some air."

Cinna smiles and is quiet for a second, "Why don't we get some together." He leads me away from the balcony, down the corridor that leads to Katniss's suite of rooms and passed her door. About 10 feet down on the other side, there is another door that has a stairwell leading up to the roof. We climb the steps and walk out into decorative gravel in multiple colors. I see immediately that the gravel is laid out in the pattern of the symbol of the Capitol; the eagle grasping arrows and wreathed by grains. At the top of the symbol there is a garden with flowers and potted trees. It's so sweet, I find it wholly ridiculous.

"Are tributes allowed up here?" I ask, looking to the edge, thinking about how some of the tributes might see the quick plummet as a better alternative to being bludgeoned, stabbed, drown or burned to death in the arena. "Aren't they afraid a tribute will jump?"

"Perhaps one has," Cinna picks up a small stone from the head of the eagle and walks towards the edge of the roof. Alarm skitters through me, not sure what Cinna is going to do. He throws the pebble and it sizzles in mid air, suspended just a few inches from the edge. "This force field was installed a few years back. The wind chimes are new..."

At his words I cock my head to the side and sure enough, I hear the tinkling of metal and glass. Cinna walks over to the garden and I am struck by how loud the chimes are when I'm right beside them. "So, why twelve? I know you had limited choices, but why not ten or eleven?"

Cinna smells a daffodil and doesn't respond for a minute. He's so calm it's almost annoying. "I like a challenge," he says. "And there's so much more you can do with coal than you can livestock and agriculture. And I'm glad I did. You two kids seem to have something that these other kids don't have."

"Oh yeah, and what's that?" I ask.

"Well, you've got charisma, and she's got... fire." He smiles at me and walks out of the garden area. "Better head back down and get ready for dinner."

I follow him down the stairs and head to my room. I haven't yet washed off the lotions, make up and hair creams that my prep team applied, but I don't really have time for a shower. I settle for wiping my face with a hot rag and changing clothes.

Out in the dining room I see the table set for six and two servants in white tunics stand off to the side, ready to wait on us when we come in to eat. They're not like the Capitol attendants at all, their uniform is pain and almost invites you to ignore them. "Hello." I say to them, but they both keep their mouths shut. I shrug and head back out to the sitting room and out onto the attached balcony to wait for everyone else to join for dinner. Cinna and Portia are the first to arrive and join me on the balcony. We don't talk, just watch the city as the night comes alive below. As obnoxious as the Capitol is, as much as I hate them, I love the vivid colors that splash every surface. I try to imagine the frostings at home, and how I can make them as bright and luminous as the Capitol, but I can't picture it. Everything in District 12 is gray, thanks to the fine layer of coal dust that coats every surface. The cakes I make are about the brightest thing in the district, and compared to the Capitol, they seem as plain as the uniforms on the two servants in the dining room.

The elevator bell dings, and I turn to see Effie stepping out in a light pink dress with layers of ruffles peaking out around her hips. Her spiked pink shoes click on the marble floor and she stops and smiles when she sees me. "Oh good, you're ready for dinner. Where's Katniss?"

"In her room still I guess." I say.

"Doesn't that girl have any initiative? She's as bad as Haymitch." She says under her breath. "I'll go get her."

I grin and turn to look at Cinna and Portia but they don't seem amused or even to have noticed what Effie said. Although, they might not know Haymitch as well as I do, and definitely don't know Katniss as well, to know the truth behind Effie's statement. Katniss is a lot like Haymitch; she's surly, solitary and spends most of her time in the Hob. The only real difference is that she's sober.

Down below in the streets I can hear a chorus of song break out by several of the citizens gathered at the base of the training center and I try to place the tune but it's one I've never heard of. Portia starts to hum along and I start to ask what the lyrics are when a throat clears behind us.

Katniss has emerged from her room and is standing at the top of the steps that lead to the dining room, obviously waiting for us to join her. She gives Cinna a smile, and ignores me. So much for keeping her attention. I hold out the chair for Effie and sit next to her, the seat on my right empty as our mentor has yet to arrive. I take a glass of wine from one of the quiet servants and drink it slowly, nibbling on a strawberry as I sip. I've had wine before, at my aunt's wedding, but it was very watery. This wine is strong and dry, the crisp, woody notes offset by the sweetness of the fruit.

The other servant, a girl with dull red hair, brings bowls of soup out to us and places them in front of us. She has just placed a bowl at the empty place setting when Haymitch walks in, looking a little grumpy, but standing straight. His attendance must have shocked everyone because we all pause and wait for him to be seated before we start eating our soup. The conversation is light, a mix of adulation and praise for our costumes as Haymitch and Effie congratulate the stylists again. "So, the interviews," says Haymitch. "What are you thinking?"

"We wanted to play more with the fire theme," says Portia. "But not the same synthetic that we used during the opening ceremonies. We have a lot of ideas and we are thinking maybe play into the sultry side of fire."

"I like it," says Haymitch. "This whole fire thing is brilliant and I think we should milk it for all it's worth."

"You should do more with coal too," says Effie. "Black and the fiery colors would really play well off each other you know."

I interject opinions here and there, between bites and watching Katniss. She seems to have gotten a little tipsy off of the wine and hasn't been following the conversation at all. The redhead servant places a large white cake on the table after the main course and she lights it on fire. The cake is one I've made a couple times, called a Baked Alaska, the whipped sugary egg fluff on the outside is soaked in alcohol and lit ablaze, the alcohol is burned off and the fluff is slightly caramelized, making the sugars more pronounced.

Katniss starts to ask about the flames and stops mid sentence. "Oh, I know you!" she says to the servant. I can feel tension in the room as all the adults freeze at her words.

"Don't be ridiculous, Katniss." says Effie. "How could you possibly know an Avox. The very thought."

"What's an Avox?" Katniss asks.

"Someone who committed a crime. They cut her tongue so she can't speak," says Haymitch. "She's probably a traitor of some sort. Not likely you'd know her."

"And even if you did," says Effie. "You're not to speak to one of them unless it's to give an order. Of course you don't really know her." The disapproval in Effie's voice is clear. Katniss is in trouble and I can see her trying to backpedal.

"No, I guess not, I just..." Katniss trails off and looks into her glass of wine. She's not very good on her feet.

"Delly Cartwritght," I say, snapping my finger. "That's who it is. I kept thinking she looked familiar as well. Then I realized she's a dead ringer for Delly." It's a lie, the girl looks nothing like the pale, blonde girl who lives above the sweet shop. Katniss knows this, but it's doubtful that Haymitch would know who she is. Katniss latches on to the life preserver I've thrown her and smiles.

"Of course, that's who I was thinking of," she says. "It must be the hair."

"Something about the eyes too," I say, holding my hands up and making a square with my fingers to frame the Avox girl's face. I can feel the tension dissipate as our lie is swallowed. Cinna explains about the cake and after eating it, we retire to the sitting area to watch the opening ceremonies. There is more praise and Haymitch sends us to bed with instructions to join him for breakfast for our next bit of advice.

I walk Katniss to her door and lean against the frame, she looks up at me and the corner of my mouth quirks. "So, Delly Cartwright," I say, cocking an eyebrow. "Imagine finding her lookalike here." She doesn't really have to explain, I don't care, I just don't want to say goodnight yet. She chews her lip and looks down, opens her mouth, then closes it. She's worried about being heard or monitored. The roof would offer some background noise for the story she wants to tell, so I take her up there and to the tinkling of the garden chimes.

The glow of the city casts different shadows across her face and I watch for a few seconds, letting the light change as she begins talking. She tells me about how she was hunting with Hawthorne and the two of them saw a pair of kids running across the meadow outside the fence of district twelve. How a hovercraft appeared, killed the boy and took both the body and the girl away. She starts shivering and I shrug off my jacket and wrap it around her shoulders.

"They were from here?" I button the top button, stroking the delicate skin of her throat with the back of my fingers. She nods slightly and her eyes get the far away look of drawing up memory again. "Where do you think they were going.

"I don't know that," she says, still half in the memory. "Or why they would leave here."

"I'd leave here." The words pop out of my mouth before I can stop them and a chill runs up my spine. Katniss's eyes fly open in surprise and I realize just how loud I spoke. As secluded as the roof seems, I don't trust a single inch of the capital to be private. The words I've just said smack of treason. If the rooftop is under surveillance Those words could spell a particularly gruesome death for me in the arena. I laugh a little, shrugging off the slip like I'm joking and raise my voice a little louder. "I'd go home now if they let me. But you have to admit, the food's prime."

The panicked look fades from Katniss's face, but the quiet moment has been shattered and I figure she's not going to open up any more tonight than she already has. "It's getting chilly," I say. "We better go in."

We start to walk back across the roof and the silence becomes uncomfortable. I take a deep breath and in my most casual voice I take a stab at conversation. "Your friend Gale. He's the one who took your sister away at the reaping?"

"Yes," she says, looking up at me. "Do you know him?"

"Not really. I hear the girls talk about him a lot. I thought he was your cousin or something. You favor each other."

"No we're not related."

I knew it was a long shot, but I'd held out hope that they were kin. Hawthorne may be Seam, but that doesn't stop the Townie girls from giggling over him. I've overheard many whispered conversations about whether or not he's a good kisser. Their jealousy fired at Katniss for her closeness with him thinly disguised as enmity for being a girl from the Seam. As petty and spiteful as they are, I sometimes understand them because as nice as Gale seems to be, I detest him for how close he is to her. "Di he come say good-bye to you?"

She follows me down the stairs and for a second she's quiet. "Yes. So did your father. He brought me cookies."

I turn back and raise my eyebrows, surprised she acknowledge them since she seems to favor sweeping all kind gestures under the rug. She of course doesn't know he does this for every district 12 tribute. I want her to feel special though, so I tell her another truth. "Really? Well, he likes you and your sister. I think he wishes he had a daughter instead of a houseful of boys."

I resume descending the steps. "He knew your mother when they were kids." I say.

"Oh, yes. She grew up in town." She's awkward again and it's just as well, because we've arrived at her door. She removes my jacket from her shoulders and hands it back to me. "See you in the morning then."

"See you," I say. I swing the jacket over my shoulder and walk down the hall, towards my own room, trying to look as though I I'm calm and smooth. Her light sweet scent has clung to the jacket though, and I feel jittery from having had a whole conversation with her. I dissect the information I learned on the roof as I walk to my room. Gale's not her cousin, I have confirmation on that now. I don't know their relationship status though; they could just be friends, or there could be something more going on. If they have a romance going on, they are very private with their affection because I've never seen them do so much as hold hands. It's a little daunting to know that I could be competing with Gale for Katniss's attention, but I have an advantage now. I'm here, he's not.

Back in my suite of rooms I set the walls to a soft blue and lights to a deep violet. The combination gives off a dusty glow that looks almost like dusk back in District 12. I reference the chart of music and tell the computer "Thunder Storm." A soft pitter-patter of raindrops begins immediately and the slow roll of distant thunder rumbles. I close my eyes and try to imagine the dark purple storm clouds, crackling with lightning and threatening to pour their contents over the Capitol. The clap of closer thunder rattles the window a little and I order the volume down.

The ambient noise lets my mind relax and I crawl under the covers. I feel encouraged by the moments up on the roof, when Katniss started to let down her guard. I envision her on the roof with a thunder storm around us. Lightning playing off her features, rain softening her edges and the image stays with me as I drift to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7 - Don't Let's Pretend

**Before I begin the chapter, a quick notice - I am changing the way I follow the story, just slightly. I've been trying to stay right on with the dialogue but I feel like it's cluttering up to just keep it all. From now on I'll be adding snippets of the original dialogue, but I really want to get more of Peeta in and less of following the same things that Katniss paid attention to. Thank you for reading.**

For the first time in my life that I can remember, the sun is starting to rise when I wake up. The artificial thunderstorm is still rolling around and I command the female voice to turn it off. I sit in bed for a while savoring the last wisps of the dream I was having. Katniss and I were curled up cuddling in the dark while a storm raged around us and just before I woke she had kissed me passionately.

I sigh and stretch. Too bad it was only a dream; I doubt I'll ever see it come to fruition. I toss the covers off of me and head into the bathroom. A two foot square touch screen controls the shower. Water temperature, pressure, soaps, shampoos, perfumes, brushes, sponges, oils, lotions. There are hundreds of selections. The bath at home had hot and cold knobs and we used the same unscented soap for our body and hair. Lotions? Forget about it. Mother had a small bottle of scented lotion that father gave her one year for her birthday, but if any one of us had dared to use it we would get a beating that would make every other beating feel like a loving caress.

Not sure what to expect for any of it, I select a medium range for temperature and pressure and a soap called Spring Meadow which turns out to smell like lavender and daisies. Not exactly the masculine scent I hoped to have as I attempt to woo Katniss. The brush I selected, a loofah, turns out to be almost sponge like and I feel like I've never been cleaner after it gently scrubs away the make up and grime of the last day.

An array of combs, brushes, gels, waxes, sprays and foams for hair are available from a second screen and I select what I remember the prep team using the day before when they gussied me up for the opening ceremonies. I actually like the smooth, slightly waved style they had done and I do my best to replicate their work. It didn't look difficult when they were doing it, but I most have missed something because after about an hour of effort and frustration I am unable to copy the style and look ridiculous and slimy. I toss the hair products and storm back into the shower, pounding on the screen and inadvertently select a shampoo that smells like roses. _At least it will go well with the Spring Meadow_ I think, resigning to smelling like a flower shop for the day. This time when I get out of the shower I just tousle my hair and decide to let it just air dry. In the closet I find an outfit has already been set out for me and I'm glad I have no other disastrous decisions to make this morning as I'm probably already late for breakfast. Not that Haymitch gave us a specific time to show up.

Haymitch's door opens right when I am closing mine and we walk to the dining room together, both of us surly and silent. Katniss is already seated with a pile of dirty dishes next to her and dipping rolls in hot chocolate, like I had done the day before. We mumble "Good Morning" to her, get our food and join her at the table. We eat in silence until we've all had our fill.

After a good hour, and more dirty dishes than my entire family would use over the course of a day, Haymitch takes what I'd wager is his first drink of the day. He drills us about our skills and Katniss tries to play it off like she's nothing special. I make a point of telling Haymitch how good she is at archery and she gets mad, then tries to play it up like she thinks I can win.

"There's always hand-to-hand combat. All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance. If I get jumped, I'm dead!" She's practically yelling at me and I can feel my hackles raise.

"But you won't! You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrels and picking off people with arrows." I'm almost yelling at her now and I can't stop the words tumbling out of my mouth. "You know what my mother said to me when she came to say good-bye, as if to cheer me up, she says maybe District Twelve will finally have a winner. Then I realized, she didn't mean me, she meant you!"

Katniss waves her hand dismissively. "Oh, she meant you."

Part of me feels sick at having revealed such a personal and humiliating moment. But it's too late. The words are out. I'm calmer now and I talk in a more controlled voice. "She said, 'She's a survivor, that one.' _She _is," I say, wincing slightly as if hearing the words for the first time. The pity on Katniss's face tears at me and I don't feel like talking any more.

"But only because someone helped me," she says, the pity shrinking her voice to that of a girl. I look at the roll in her hand. So she does remember that day in the rain. It was an important day for me but I always thought she just accepted the help and moved on.

"People will help you in the arena. They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you."

"No more than you," she says. At first I think she's pandering then I realize she's completely clueless. She's never noticed any attention paid to her. How the guys at school are all fascinated by her. Even Gale, I'll bet she's never noticed that he's madly in love with her.

"She has no idea," I say to Haymitch, rolling my eyes. "The effect she can have." I'm sure she's staring at me now and I focus intently on the wood grain pattern on the table, tracing it with my finger and wishing I would have just shut up.

Haymitch throws out little bits of advise then says something that I don't think either of us expects. "One last thing. In public, I want you by each other's side every minute." I open my mouth to agree, but he must be anticipating an objections because he slams his hand on the table. "Every minute! It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training."

Katniss and I leave and I hear her door slam. I have no problem acting friendly towards her, though, actually talking is something I am a little worried about. She, on the other hand, seems to be royally pissed at having to pretend that we're friends. I didn't think the flowers smelled _that_ bad.

Instead of going to my room, I head out on the balcony and gaze down at the street. The city is brimming with activity and I'm aching to go down to street level and people watch, but I don't think that I'm allowed to leave the suite. The roof comes to mind though and I head up there.

I explore the full roof and discover a small grassy area hidden by large rhododendron bushes. I lay down on the grass and watch the clouds floating by. I think about Madge again, how we laid down in the grass at her house and I feel a pang of guilt. I shouldn't have kissed her back in the justice building. After only a few hours in the presence of Katniss I realize that there's no way I could have anything with Madge, even if I were lucky enough to make it back home. I ache to share the moment with Katniss and head down from the roof to invite her to join me. She might be upset, but I'm sure she'd love a moment of calm in the midst of everything.

When I step into the hall from the roof access and cross to her door, the elevator bell dings and Katniss's door opens all at the same time.

"Oh good, you're both ready," Effie says, and she herds us into the elevator to head down to the training rooms.

We step off the elevator to find 22 tributes gathered in a circle, and most of them are glaring at us. It seems they're still pissed about our chariot entrance. And let them be pissed. If they're angry they'll try to show us how amazing they are and they'll show us all their cards.

Someone pins the number 12 to my and Katniss's shirts and we head first to the knot tying station. Katniss is a wiz at knots and while I manage to tie one or two that aren't too terrible, she has completely won over the instructor with her skills.

After an hour of tying knots we head over to the camouflage section and I select a handful of ingredients and transform my arm into a decent replica of a tree branch with light filtering in through leaves. Katniss seems impressed and I downplay my artistic skills. "I do the cakes," I explain.

"The cakes?" Katniss is distracted watching the big oaf from District 2 who had been staring at her the night before. "What cakes?"

"At home," I say, looking at the boy who holds her attention. He seems strong, his hair is cropped short and he's stabbing a dummy with a spear. Maybe she is only admiring his skill, maybe it's his muscular build. At once I feel a little self conscious, is she finally noticing someone? "The iced ones, for the bakery." I finish lamely.

She looks at my arm more critically and I can see admiration on her face but it sours. "It's lovely. If only you could frost someone to death."

Her dismissive tone bothers me but I try another tactic, making her smile the night before seemed to have worked. "Don't be so superior. You never know what you'll find in the arena. Say it's actually a giant cake-"

"Say we move on," she says, cutting me off. For the moment I give up trying to make her smile and we do move on.

The next day, at the fire building station I try again. I remember the lyrics of an old song that I once heard my dad sing to my mom. "Come on baby, light my fire. Come on baby, light my fire. Try to set the night on fire." I'm the first to admit that I can't sing but my efforts get at least a smirk from Katniss but she withdraws even more afterwards and I can barely get her to keep up the pretense of being friends. We move through the stations, learning skills and acting like we're friends for the benefit of everyone else, but I can't seem to break through the barrier of ice that she's built up around her.

I notice at the fishing lure station that the little girl from 10 is watching us, then again at edible plants. When she's hanging out in the corner watching us at the spear throwing, I point her out to Katniss. Immediately, Katniss softens at the sight of the slip of a girl who is too shy to approach but is obviously fascinated by Katniss, just like all of us at home. Eventually, the little girl, Rue, joins us at some of the stations, shyly copying everything Katniss does. Over the next few days she joins us more and more.

Every day at lunch I talk to Katniss and am surprised at how easy it is getting to talk to her without stammering. I show her the different breads from each district, the small square loaves of District 3, the dense brown loaves of 7. She feigns interest and I coax her to talk to me too. She tells me about Prim and her mother, but she gets choked up talking about them so I ask her about any hunting stories she has, which seem safe. She tells me a story about when a bear chased her and it feels almost like we are becoming friends.

At dinner, Effie and Haymitch ask us all about the tributes, what we did, what we said and drill us for details about every minute detail of our day. After the second day of this, I'm ready to find Haymitch a drink just so he'll back off and give us a moment's peace. I say as much to Katniss and she laughs at first then she gets rigid.

"Don't," she says. "Don't let's pretend when there's no one around." Pretend. Of course it's all pretend for her. She's not building a friendship, she's not even building an ally, she's just playing the part that Haymitch told her to play.

"All right Katniss," I say and head to my room. A little crushed to realize that my efforts aren't paying off. From then on, Katniss only talks to me in front of other people and the pretense of friendship gets even thinner.

Luckily we don't have to pretend for much longer. Halfway through day three we are called away from the lunch room to have our private sessions with the Gamemakers so they can determine our training scores. Katniss manages to keep up her act through District 9, then she pretty much stops talking altogether.

They call my name and I get up to leave. "Remember what Haymitch said about being sure to throw the weights." Her words surprise me and it looks like they surprise her too.

"Thanks," I say. "I will. You..." I can't really thing of what I want to say. "Shoot straight."

I leave the lunch room and head to the gymnasium. The Gamemakers are up in the loft chatting and eating. They look bored and I wonder if they've even noticed I've walked in. I walk over to the medicine balls and lift the heaviest one; it's 25 pounds, nothing compared to what I'm used to lifting. The training dummy is my target and I launch the ball across the room like it's a baseball, it clips the arm of the practice dummy and knocks it over. A quick glance at the Gamemakers shows that they aren't even looking. I hear a chorus of singing and grind my teeth. The free-weights catch my eye and I march over to them and lift one of the 45 pound plates. I balance it on one hand and hoist it up into the air, aiming for the same training dummy. The iron plate hits the dummy in the torso and clatters to the ground. This draws the attention of a couple Gamemakers, but only for a few seconds. _What else can I do to show strength other than lifting the weights? Something dramatic that they'll actually notice_. My eyes land on one of the punching bags laying against the wall. I grasp it by the straps at the top, spin in a circle to get some momentum and hurl it across the gym. The bag slams into a rack of weapons, knocking it to the ground.

I look up to the Gamemakers once more and again find that they don't seem to care. A voice crackles over the speaker in the corner of the room. "Thank you. You may go."

Great. I can just see my training score now. A bright, shiny four.


	8. Chapter 8 - Scores

I head back to the twelfth floor and join Haymitch and Effie in the sitting room. They're talking about one of the victors that Haymitch pals around with named Chaff and some trouble that he's made back in District 11. I haven't been back in our suite for more than five minutes when Katniss arrives.

She runs straight to her room and slams the door. I get up to go after her and Effie waves me off to sit back down.

"Don't worry, Peeta, I'll get her to come back out." She says and totters down the hall to Katniss's room. I hear a grumble about "damn babysitter" from Haymitch and he lumbers after her. Haymitch and Effie make an effort to coax her from her room but she yells at them to go away.

"Is Katniss alright?" I ask Haymitch as soon as he returns to the sitting room and he glances at me and snorts.

"Kid, your girlfriend is as alright as she can be," he says with a laugh. "Considering she's a teenage girl and she's now in the Hunger Games."

"Oh, I thought maybe she got hurt during her session or something." I feel embarrassed for having said anything. Haymitch has already noticed my attention towards Katniss, I don't want him pointing it out to her. "And she's not my girlfriend." I mumble.

Haymitch cocks an eyebrow at me and nods. "Uh huh." He takes a drink of wine and I excuse myself.

In my room pace for a while, too amped up to sit still. What I want to do is go down the hall to Katniss's room, tell her that I'm madly in love with her and that I want to spend the rest of my life -all two weeks or so that I likely have left- wrapped in her arms, smelling her hair, kissing her. Instead, I shadow box, do push ups, jumping jacks and sit ups. I work out until the heat of thinking about Katniss is replaced by burning in my muscles. It's probably about dinner time so I shower, being careful of my soap selections, and lay down in my bed to cool off.

They'll be airing the scores in about an hour and I'm not sure that's anything I care about. I doubt I'll be winning any sponsors with my score so why bother even watching the airing? I know the answer though, it's because I'll be sitting right next to Katniss on the couch when we watch, since Haymitch and Effie will likely be taking the opposite ends of the couch so that they're as far apart as possible. And of course, there's the fact that I'm required to watch the airing of the scores.

The knock at my door surprises me and I hear Effie tell me it's dinner time. I'm not sure I'm ready yet to face Katniss again, with her fake friendship and my thoughts having wandered to her lips too much the past hour. She was pretty upset when she came up from the private session though, so she could probably use a friend, even a fake friend, right about now. Deciding against chasing after her is one thing, avoiding her is another.

I'm glad to see Cinna and Portia at the table when I emerge from my room, their presence will probably be more of a balm for Katniss than mine, and they have a calming effect on Effie and Haymitch, who are still circling each other like dogs ever since Haymitch made that comment about her bathing him. The energy seems to have changed a bit, Effie is still haughty and Haymitch is still crude, but Now I see that they seem to have electricity buzzing between them. I think about how many games the two of them have attended together, this is I think the fifth games for which Effie has been the District 12 mentor, they must have gotten to know each other pretty well in that time.

Katniss walks in and ignores everyone, pouring all her attention into her soup. I eat mine, not really tasting any of it, and spare glances in her direction, hoping to catch her eyes, but they remain ratcheted to the bowl in front of her. Finally, she looks up and I raise my eyebrows in silent question. _Are you okay? What happened? _She just shakes her head and turns back to her soup. When Haymitch asks us how bad we were, she swallows hard, she doesn't want to talk about whatever it was yet, so I tell about mine.

"I don't know that it mattered," I say. "By the time I showed up, none of them even bothered to look at me. They were singing some kind of drinking song, I think. So I threw around some heavy objects until they told me I could go." Katniss smiles slightly and I figure she probably had a similar experience.

"And you sweetheart?" Haymitch asks her. I see her bristle at the nickname and I'm glad I nave never called her that.

"I shot an arrow at the gamemakers." She snaps. We all freeze and Effie exclaims in horror. Katniss explains that she didn't really shoot at them, just in their direction and then stormed out of the session. Effie seems almost more upset about her leaving without being dismissed than about the arrow. Then Katniss's chin wobbles a little and she asks if she might get arrested or if her family would be punished. When Haymitch explains that they probably won't because of how much of a pain that would be, she seems to cheer up a little.

"More than likely," Haymitch says. "They'll make your life hell in the arena."

"They've already promised to do that." I say.

"Very true." Haymitch says, then he dunks his pork chop in wine and Katniss actually smiles at the look of horror in Effie's face. "What were their faces like?" Haymitch asks with a glint in his eye.

"Shocked, terrified, ridiculous some of them." She grins. "One man tripped backward into a bowl of punch."

Everyone except Effie laughs but even she agrees that it serves them right for not paying attention. Katniss wonders about her probable low score and Effie assures her that only the really good scores matter. She even states that some people hide their skills to get a low score on purpose.

"I hope that's how they'll interpret the four I'll probably get," Katniss smiles a little and I decide to lay it on thick, exaggerate what happened, so she'll feel better about her session. "If that. I mean really, is anything less impressive than watching a person pick up a heavy ball and throw it a couple yards? One almost landed on my foot." Katniss grins at me, then starts eating in earnest, and I realize what I need to do to win her favor for real. She doesn't want a strong man who is going to challenge her and build her, if she did, she'd have long ago started dating her friend Gale. What she wants is a man who makes her feel stronger, needed, someone who's weaker than her. Now I really am hoping for a four. If being weak is what she wants, I can appear weak. But I don't think that will be enough. She seems not to notice what's right in front of her, and I don't have the luxury of a long courtship. I have a few weeks at most to try to win her and save her. Though, if I have to pick one, I'd rather she win the games, but hate me in the process. A plan starts to formulate in my mind and I decide that I'm going to ask Haymitch to train us separate the rest of the time.

When we go into the sitting room to watch the scores I only half pay attention to them. I notice that the boy from District 2 pulls a 10, and that the girl from District 5 pulls a 8, where the boy from her district only got a 4. Katniss is please at the score for little Rue, a 7 is pretty impressive for such a little sprite of a girl, and then my score is on the screen. I'm surprised to see an 8, and a little disappointed too. If I outscore Katniss, that will set me back in my aim to look inferior. But then Katniss is on the screen and an 11 is flashing under her. No doubt shooting the apple from a pigs mouth is sensational.

Everyone congratulates her on her score and she glows under the adoration. I'm thrilled because her score could mean more sponsors and that may help her even more than I can. Katniss congratulates me on my score then flees the room, claiming that she's tired. Cinna and Portia excuse themselves and Effie tells me I need to get to sleep because tomorrow is another _big, big, big day! _That works fine for me because I want to talk to Haymitch alone. He gets up to also go to bed and I touch his arm, stopping him.

"I'd like to change plans Haymitch." I blurt out with no preamble. He cocks an eyebrow at me and flops back down on the sofa. "Can we be coached separately from now on? I have a plan that I need your help on and I don't want Katniss to know about it yet."

"Let me guess, you're ready to declare your undying love for her?" Haymitch rolls his eyes and scoffs. "What do you even see in that girl? She's not exactly nice you know."

"Telling her I love her isn't what I had in mind, I am hoping to soften her up more first." I say. Haymitch nods a little and shrugs.

"So what do you want me to do?" He asks, ready to be an accomplice.

"Well, you said tomorrow you'll be working with us on interviews." He nods and I continue. "When you're talking to her, see what information you can dig out of her. Things she likes, things I can talk to her about. I've tried a dozen times and she won't talk to me. Maybe if you have her alone, she'll open up to you."

"You are grasping at straws here kid," Haymitch says, taking a drink of the wine he's been nursing since dinner. "To be honest, I don't think you got a shot with her, in or out of the arena."

"Yeah, you might be right, but I at least have a few days to work on that, see if I can get the odds to be more in my favor."

"Well, I still think you should toss the dice, just come right out and say it." Haymitch says and downs the rest of his wine. "That way you force her to pay attention to you, if just for a little while. See ya tomorrow kid."

Haymitch goes to his room and I'm left in the sitting room by myself. I don't really think I should take advice from Haymitch about women. I mean, I've never seen him have so much as a civil conversation with one, not that I hang out with him a lot. He has a point about Katniss's attention though. Her focus is always set on pretty major things, feeding her family, protecting her sister, the Games. If I do want her to really notice me, I need to do something spectacular, something she can't ignore. I'd still like to warm her up to me a little more before I make any declaration, but with us prepping for the interviews all day tomorrow, I don't know if I'll get the chance.

I feel stuffy and hot, not looking at all forward to going to my rooms alone. I head instead for the stairwell, pausing for a second by Katniss's door, debating if I want to invite her to join me. My hand is poised by the door, ready to knock when I hear a light snore from the other side. I let my hand drop and go up to the roof alone. I walk the perimeter of the roof stopping at a patch of sand that has been raked into a swirling design that I would love to replicate on a cake some day.

I lay down in the sand and stare up at the sky. The city is too well-lit for me to see any stars, but I pretend they're there. I try to picture the same ones that Delly and I looked at that day so long ago, I try to picture Delly by my side now, but instead of the delicate blonde curls and blue eyes, my mind conjures a long, dark braid and brown eyes. My chest tightens and feel a pang of regret for so much lost time. I fall asleep with the image of Katniss leaning over me, her attention fully on me. What I wouldn't give to experience it for real.


End file.
